


a little dancing never hurt anybody

by MxThmxNn



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Dancing, Hannibal Lecter is the Chesapeake Ripper, M/M, Not Beta Read, One of Hannibal's parties, Season 1 era, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-14 15:01:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28547556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MxThmxNn/pseuds/MxThmxNn
Summary: We were robbed of a very tense dance between Will and Hannibal during one of those fancy parties, so I wrote one myself.  And also let's pretend this is when Will learned that Hannibal was the Chesapeake Ripper.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 3
Kudos: 73





	a little dancing never hurt anybody

**Author's Note:**

> If I'm honest this is another oneshot I impulsively wrote while sleep deprived and it's not that great. There's also like no plot I'm just self indulging here.

“I don’t think partying on a work night is a very good idea, Jack,” Will whispers to the figure next to him. His breath fogging in front of him as they stand on the steps in front of the fantastical house.

Jack leaned over, the brim of his felt hat touching a stray lock of Will’s hair. “It’s courtesy of Hannibal, and besides, we may have a new lead on the Ripper at this party.”

“The secret side of the rich,” Will murmurs. 

“Exactly.”

A young unfamiliar man, probably hired help opens the heavy mahogany door leading into the home. Both men tipped the layer of snow that had accumulated onto their shoes onto the welcome mat outside. Amber lights drew in Will and Jack as they step onto the premises. They discard their heavy peacoats and hand them to another young employee who take them into a closet off to the side. 

Orchestral music rings through the halls, floating over the sounds of haughty laughter that came from the mouths of guests. Most of the attendees were far outside Will’s tax bracket and he honestly didn’t know who any of them were. That was when he noticed that he had lost his companion in the fray. Jack had been immediately swept up by the jovial combination of good food and even better wine. _Hannibal always had a knack for presentation_. Will just assumes that he went to go look for the host of the party himself. 

Perhaps it was a blessing that Will Graham was quite the wallflower, he did not stick out in the crowd, nobody looks at him as he backed into a corner of Hannibal’s living room. The space had a ballroom-like quality just by its sheer capacity. It seemed as all of Baltimore’s gentry were in this room. _They probably were._ The profiler stands and watches the party going on at a distance, without him. Jack’s words resonate inside his head. The possibility that he could be standing in the room with the serial killer they’d been chasing for months engulfed his mind. It was rather smart of Jack to consider that the Ripper was a man of high society. Something about the way his kills were so gruesomely and breathlessly presented on a silver platter took refinement that no middle class killer has ever given. Will’s eyes scan through the crowd, men drunkenly stumbling over their alligator skin shoes and women flaunting their absurd hairstyles. Each of them, suspects. A storm of thoughts flooded his head: _No, he’s eating too sloppily. She talks too much about her affairs. That’s not the Ripper_. Will scrutinizes every guest and all of their situations, trying to see if their energy matched the design of the Chesapeake Ripper.

“I’m glad you could make it,” A familiar voice woke Will from his trance. “Jack was so concerned you had left,” he laughs.

Blue eyes look up to meet the person talking. A distinct reflection of red and gold lost within hazel brown look back. _Doctor Hannibal Lecter_. The host grins down at Will, like he was the guest of honor at this party thrown for no particular reason than to demonstrate extravagance. 

“Doctor,” The special agent stutters out. Will shoots him an awkward smile and turns his head to the ground to the left of him. A stray curl makes its way into his vision, falling right over the lens of his glasses. “It’s a fantastic party.”

The smile on Hannibal’s face sank into a concerned frown. The corners of his lips turn down slightly and his eyes narrow ever-so-slightly. He was about to start diagnosing Will of his problems. “I appreciate your courtesy, but it seems like you are not enjoying your night. Of course there is nothing wrong with solitude, but resolving yourself to the corner of a room when all the action is happening in the center does not feel like enjoyment, does it, Will?”

Sweat began to bead up into his palms as Will cleared his throat to answer. “Parties are not really my thing. You know that. I’m just here with Jack, he thinks that we might find a lead here.”

“No rest for the wicked I suppose,” Hannibal responds lightheartedly. 

“But I think he’s here for more than work, Doctor,” Will chuckles. He cranes his neck over Hannibal’s shoulder as he spots Jack chatting up some distinguished men in matching black suits. Lecter gives off an amused scoff as he’s also averted his eyes briefly to his friend. He quickly puts his eyes back onto the man in front of him.

His face is stoic, but his hawk-like stare glosses over Will. “Perhaps I should introduce you to my tailor,” he starts.

Will can feel a blush claw its way up his neck, past his collar. He wasn’t sure if his psychiatrist was about to insult him or-

“Your physique would take very well to a proper fitting suit.”

_His physique would- What?!_

The statement threw the special agent off more than he’d like to admit. He wasn’t used to Hannibal making such casual comments about his appearance, much less compliments (he thinks that’s a compliment). Why was simply because he wasn’t wearing anything particularly fancy. He wasn’t really known for that obviously. He had on an ill-fitting white button up. It was pressed but the fit caused it to wrinkle naturally. Around his neck was a navy tie with a silver clip that belonged to his father once. His shirt was tucked as neatly as possible into basic black slacks and a dark blazer covered it all. Will had his hair slicked down to the side but wayward curls strayed from the style. This was the most dressed up he’d been in months and the look was more suited to an office holiday party than an aristocratic affair like the one he’s just infiltrated. 

Will’s mouth went dry at the remark as he scrambles for a response. “I really don’t need any new fancy clothes, these do the job.” _Nice one, Will._

Hannibal’s eyebrows peak, as if he was surprised by Will’s humble response. He swirls the glass of wine in his hand before taking a chaste sip. “Please, I insist. If I am to be inviting you to more dinner parties I believe you need a more extravagant wardrobe so you don’t feel so,” he pauses, “out of place.” The doctor’s eyes scanned around the room to the event occurring behind him. “I’ll schedule you a date sometime, think of it as an act of _friendship_.”

“Excuse me, Doctor Lecter?” Asks a rather petite woman from behind the pair. Again, Will had no clue who this little old lady could be but he supposes he should let his friend go. It would be rude to not. He hears words coming from Hannibal’s mouth but he doesn’t process them. 

“Well, I must be going, I’ll check back on you soon,” Hannibal says. His distinct silhouette fades its way back into the party and across the room. The orchestra now playing more intense music than it was when he and Will were just talking.

The words “an act of _friendship_ ” stuck to Will like spurs on his jeans. There was something about the way Hannibal said the word “friendship” always felt out of place in his sentences when he’s talking to Will. It had a sweetness to it that stuck on his tongue weird, like he’s choking back a different word. ‘Lover’ or ‘partner’ seemed to fit better in that slot but Will couldn’t fathom that the Doctor saw him nothing more as a patient or even a lab rat. The special agent backs himself against the wall further, shoulders pressing against the raised wallpaper. 

A waitress walks by, holding a silver platter covered with a domed glass lid. She stops in front of Will, with perfect posture. “Would you like one?”

“Sure.” 

The lady lifts the lid up to showcase a ton of symmetrical little crackers paired with what looked to Will like a soft cheese and caviar. Some sort of vegetable or fruit is skewered on top. He takes one on the edge of the platter and the waitress walks off. He then examines the appetizer and awkwardly tries to take a bite without it spilling over everywhere. That doesn’t work. His hands scramble to catch the falling crumbs and stray fish eggs before he impolitely shoved the rest of the little cracker into his mouth. 

When Will pulls the curled wooden pick from his lips he can actually start to taste whatever it was he just ate. Of course it was delicious, it was Hannibal’s cooking after all, but he didn’t have the palette to experience it fully. He couldn’t use all of those fancy culinary adjectives to describe the complexity or nuance of food, but he could at least appreciate the flavor. Will wiped his hands off on his pants and leaned back to observe the party once again.

He doesn’t know how long he stands there, watching socialites, trying to get in their heads. Jack was probably too distracted to watch for warning signs. But nobody here had that deadly air about them. Will couldn’t sense anybody he was looking at to be responsible for anything above tax fraud. Whoever tipped them off that the Ripper was in this room right now needed to reevaluate. 

Being stuck to a wall forever was starting to get tiring. In a decision to stretch his legs, Will decided to take a walk across the room to the drinks table, sparkling flutes of champagne drew his eye. He cuts through the crowd, weaving between clusters of people. He’s a flurry of apologies as he couldn’t help but bump into some of them before arriving at that damned table. 

Will picks a glass off the table and places it to his lips. The champagne is light and floral, refreshing. He was more for liquor that would knock him out easily, but that wasn’t something he needed right now. 

“Dom Perignon.” 

“What?” Will asks, startled. He turns to come face to face with his psychiatrist once again. 

“Dom Perignon, the champagne you just had. It’s a favorite amongst guests,” Hannibal said with a smile. A smile that happened to put Will on edge. Something about how dark his eyes remained, even with a genuine grin, didn’t feel right. “I was under the impression you’d appreciate a more robust alcohol, Will.”

Will set his glass down and leaned himself against the table, hands gripping at the the white table cloth. “Yeah, I think it’s best I don’t get myself too drunk. But it is delicious, thank you Doctor.”

“My pleasure. It is my duty as a host to provide the guests with their preferred accoutrements”

“Well you’re a wonderful host,” Will followed, taking another sip of his drink. 

“Are you still not enjoying yourself, Will?” The doctor inquired. He reached behind Will to also get himself a glass of champagne. Hannibal let out a long breath and the night was starting to get to him. Strands of greying brown hair fell out of its stiff style and the first button of his dress shirt was now undone. 

Will buried his free hand into the pocket of his slacks. “I’m here on FBI business, doctor, I’m not _supposed_ to be having fun. But catching the Ripper at a party was not Jack’s best idea.” Will’s eyes feverishly scanned the dance floor for any sign of his boss to no avail. 

Another devious smile tugged at Hannibal’s lip, scheming. “Doing work under stress is not very productive, Will. Perhaps you need to relax a bit, maybe then you can catch your killer. Someone could be sneaking right past you, but you’re to tense to notice.”

“That’s actually a very good point,” Will breathed into the mouth of his glass. The special agent downed the rest of his drink and set the flute down on the table.

“Then allow me.” 

Abruptly, Hannibal pulled Will by his free arm, letting him stumble over his feet as the two made their way to the center of the room. Will’s head was really spinning now, everything suddenly moved at lightning’s pace. The older man was now talking to the little orchestra positioned by the fireplace, instructing them to switch up the song. 

He turns his attention back to Will, “Will Graham, would you be so kind to accept this dance?” Hannibal asks, melodically. He held his hand out toward the profiler, amber eyes boring into his soul. Will’s palms went clammy, and his mouth went dry. _He couldn’t dance for shit_. 

“Um, sure,” he stammers out, it would be foolish to decline the host a dance at his own party. And he knew very well that Hannibal was a stickler for proper manners. 

“Thank you, Will.” The guests of the party moved out of the way, now anticipating the spectacle of the dance. Although nothing had changed, it felt as though the lights dimmed around Will and Hannibal in a vignette. All of the focus on just the two of them in the center of the room. Quiet gawks arose from the audience, questioning why Hannibal would reserve his first dance of the night for some man they barely knew beyond his headlines on TattleCrime. 

“What are you doing?” Will mouthed, feeling sweat collect on the surface of his skin.

“Helping you relax a bit,” Hannibal replies.

“Are you serious, doctor? I can’t dance.” 

“You don’t have to know how, just follow my lead.”

Hannibal proceeds to position Will. Right arm around his neck, left in his hand. The doctor’s free hand was now resting comfortably on Will’s waist. Surprisingly, his presence there wasn’t as unwelcome as the FBI agent was anticipating. The two waited a second for the room to calm down before a quick glance instructed the orchestra to start playing again. 

The song was passionate, but consistent, the perfect waltz. A rush of air passes behind Will’s blazer because of how quickly he was swept into motion. Hannibal’s hands are holding onto him firmly, guiding his hips and leading his body with the hand he’s holding. Will awkwardly steps along with Hannibal, watching the space between his shoes and assuming to put his foot there. Their first few movements are impersonal and casual, the music isn’t particularly dramatic, just the two of them taking turns around the room. 

“You’re concentrating too hard, Will” Hannibal whispers. It was clear that he was taking mental notes of Will’s shoddy footwork. “Let go a little bit and flow with the music,” He continues, close to Will’s ear. 

Will trusts his psychiatrist (enough) and heeds his words. He tries his best to let himself be swayed along side Hannibal instead of trying to follow his movements. Somehow, it works. He looks up at the other man and gives him another curt smile, still feeling a bit awkward that his first ballroom dance was with his FBI assigned psychiatrist and that his boss was probably watching. But his strides are much less choppy and he begins to feel the music as the song began to swell into its more dramatic second movement. “Is this better, doctor?” 

Hannibal smiles at him darkly, glittering ambers reflecting off his irises. “Yes, you’re quite an efficient learner.” 

The dancers soon picked up a more confident routine. In unison, their strides were longer, sharper turns, it was _beautiful_. For once, Will did feel relaxed. He wasn’t anticipating all he needed was a little dancing. Hannibal drew Will close to him, showing him off to the rest of the party, some of whom have also begun dancing. Others were too captivated by Will and the Doctor. Will held his position, almost breathless, endorphins rushing to his head. 

“I’m going to spin you now,” Hannibal explained. He pushed Will away from him slightly. “Trust me, and I will catch you, make a wrong move, and you will fall.” 

Will, breathing heavily, gives him a nod. Suddenly the two are in perfect sync again, Hannibal pulling Will’s arm above his head and giving him a couple rotations. Will feels like he’s about to dive face first into the floor as the twists had thrown his feet off balance, but he tried his best not to flinch or flail his arms. 

Just in the nick of time, Hannibal catches Will. His hand is resting between Will’s shoulder blades. The special agent’s weight was fully supported. Will was aware that Hannibal wasn’t frail by any means, but this strength was impressive. Will shoots him a breathless smile, his glasses dislodged from their position on his nose bridge. His heart’s racing and he can’t tell if it’s from fear or astonishment, but it’s best he didn’t question it. 

The music reaches its peak when Hannibal recovers Will from the dip, back into an upright position. He returns his hand onto Will’s waist as he planned to complete their waltz with the third and final movement of whatever the orchestra was playing. When the two men begin moving again it hits Will.

Everything. The searing eye contact, the way everything around them enveloped in excess, the deadly precise dancing, it was _everything Will was looking for_. A strained gasp almost fights its way out of Will but he holds it behind his front teeth. This was everything that embodied the design of the Chesapeake Ripper. His eyes dart around, wondering if anybody else was seeing what he was, but the room around him began to blur. The sounds of the orchestra are entirely swallowed by the thrumming in Will’s ears. His senses were at a dead end, all he had to look at was Hannibal. 

  
  


Despite his hatred for eye contact, Will decides to give Lecter a pointed glare. His eyebrows knitting together into a furrow beneath the slim frame of his glasses. The older man was looking at him with an equivalent intensity. His eyes went dark and knowing. The faintest hint of a smile on his lips. Hannibal cocks his head to the side slightly as he tugs on Wills shoulder, turning the both of them. It was almost as if he knew that Will had figured out his little secret, and that he _wanted_ Will to figure it out just now. He watched as Will’s face grew helpless, they both knew that to stop dancing was not an option and would alert the company. 

_Fucking sadist._

The dancing shifted again from elegant and synchronized to an almost violent struggle between Will and Hannibal. Will was less of a dance partner and more of an animal trying to wrestle its way out of its predator’s grip. Hannibal knew exactly how to pull him close enough to prevent him from running, too close. Will initiated abrupt dips, trying to rip himself free but Hannibal expertly catches him every time. Everything around them grew infernal. The tension building between them began weighing on Will’s shoulders. Their intimate little fling left Will questioning himself: Was he going to strangle or kiss Hannibal after this? 

Their little show pulls gasps from the onlookers at the party, not expecting to see anything so raw and entertaining. 

Will hated every part of this. Everything, from how much Hannibal was clearly enjoying this. And the added pressure of the guests watching them so tentatively. He hated that. And he especially despises how addictive the movement was, the pair have to keep up appearances for even seconds more as the orchestra crescendos once more. 

The two men stop their dance when the strings section bow their final staccato note in unison. Will looks up at Hannibal, with a frown still etched into his face, a frustration with himself more than anything. Hannibal however, wore another one of his hollow smiles. He’s holding Will in the position they started in.

Looking down at the younger man, Hannibal mouths, “Caught me.” The movement of his lips so slight that only Will would notice. The psychiatrist finally takes his hands off of Will and turns him to face the same way he was. A few claps and impressed cheers came from the attendees. They accepted their applause, with labored breaths and heaving chests.

A stray whistle from Jack alerts both Will and Hannibal. Hannibal gives Will a nudge with his elbow, releasing him back to Jack. Will immediately jogs over to where his boss was standing.

“Quite the show, Will.”

“Thanks.”

“Didn’t know you could dance.”

“I didn’t either to be honest.”

“Why Lecter?”

“He thought I needed to relax a little,” Will responds defensively. 

Jack hums, looking down in thought. His head snaps back up to look at Will, who was clearly retreating into his mind. He lets out a toothy chuckle, Will focusing on the gap in his teeth. 

“Doctor knows best,” He says.

Will pinches the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger, raising his glasses. “Jack, I found our killer,” he breathes out. 

Jack’s eyes open with shock, his jaw loosening slightly. 

“You did?” He asks, flabbergasted. “I knew you could-”

“It’s Hannibal,” Will whispers urgently into Jack’s ear. He retreats to his original distance from his boss, chest heaving. 

“There is no way, Hannibal Lecter, _our good friend_ , is the Chesapeake Ripper, Will,” Jack whispers in utter disbelief. He decides to pull Will away from the crowded area because a hallway would be much more appropriate for their discussion. 

“Just believe me Jack.”

“I already told you, there is very little suspicion around Hannibal being the Ripper. We have no evidence. I’ve already told you this, Will.”

“But I-”

Will is interrupted by Jack’s disappointed expression alone. This was the end of their discussion. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> (1/07/2021) I really do appreciate that people really like this piece but it is simply a oneshot and I honestly have no clue where to continue it, my apologies qwq.


End file.
